


Take It Slow

by StarkRogers



Series: Witcher Fic [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Fingering, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, Frottage, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Trans Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:00:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28546014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarkRogers/pseuds/StarkRogers
Summary: Geralt is trans, but Jaskier doesn't know - yet. A spicy and sweet story of trust, exploration and acceptance between two men who love each other very much. No angst here, just smut and snark.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher Fic [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2054499
Comments: 30
Kudos: 276





	Take It Slow

Jaskier was ecstatic. Well, sort of.

He and Geralt had _finally_ started getting physical, but it wasn’t exactly how Jaskier had imagined it would go. It was always Geralt fully clothed, touching Jaskier at night with his hands and mouth. Jaskier wasn’t complaining, and it wasn’t one-sided by any means: he could tell Geralt was reaching into his own pants and taking care of himself, and he loved to hear the Witcher moan and gasp. He couldn’t see much in the darkness when they fucked, but he could see Geralt rut against the ground with his mouth around Jaskier’s cock, and knew Geralt was enjoying himself greatly. It was an odd arrangement, but it seemed to be working out so Jaskier didn’t push at first. Everyone got to orgasm, which seemed to be a win.

After a few weeks they moved on to Geralt fucking Jaskier with his fingers, which Jaskier appreciated the hell out of, but Geralt still wouldn’t let him see him undressed even in the light of the fire. Jaskier wondered if it was because of the scars, and tried to assure Geralt he wasn’t disgusted by them. Geralt was hesitant at first, but eventually they were performing their favorite activities with Geralt shirtless as the heat of summer nights reached a crest. Geralt’s torso was scattered with scars, including two symmetrical scars across his chest, but they seemed no less odd than any other scars the Witcher had, so Jaskier didn’t think much of them. But always, it was Geralt taking care of himself, his hips far, far away, Jaskier’s cock in his mouth or in his hands or with Geralt’s fingers buried in his ass. And he didn’t let Jaskier touch him after kissing heated up and hands started drifting lower. 

They were making out tonight on top of their bedrolls, no fire burning, the heat of the summer air so humid that Geralt was down to just his smallclothes, a new level of bareness that Jaskier was reveling in quietly as they kissed, hands trailing over chests and stomachs. Jaskier was well-versed by now in where _not_ to touch, because if he tried anything below the waist Geralt would twitch away like a frightened baby deer, growl “ _No”_ , and moments later Geralt’s mouth would be on his cock with no other chances to touch.

So tonight, Jaskier was being very careful as he settled his hands against Geralt’s lower back, their hips as always a hairsbreadth apart.

“Geralt,” Jaskier groaned, his hands gripping Geralt’s flanks. “ _Please_ let me touch your ass… You’ve no idea how much I want it, day after day, riding behind you, watching those thighs in the saddle…” Jaskier still didn’t understand Geralt’s hesitancy, and the Witcher had refused to talk about it during the day, so all Jaskier could do was listen and follow directions and earn his trust in the safety of darkness, inch by inch. 

Geralt chuckled, and after a soft inhale, he nodded. 

“Alright, you hedonist. But no lower.”

Elated lust shot through Jaskier and he didn’t spare the jibe a second though as his hands slid down, outside the smallclothes, _finally_ getting two luscious handfuls of Witcher ass, and he groaned against Geralt’s lips. 

“Oh _Gods_ yes, just as soft as I’d always dreamed-”

Geralt was still laughing, and he slid a thick thigh between Jaskier’s legs, shoving it right up against Jaskier’s hardening cock and making him groan with need. 

“Ah you _fucker_ ,” Jaskier moaned, gripping Geralt’s backside tighter and pulling him closer, shoving his cock against Geralt’s thigh with wanton need. Geralt moaned in reply, his own hips rocking a few inches away, and Jaskier felt one of Geralt’s hands slipping between his own legs and under his smallclothes and with a hungry sound. 

Jaskier wanted - he wanted _so badly_ to be the one touching Geralt, but he knew if he asked that would be the end of it for tonight, so he just redoubled his grip on Geralt’s backside with one hand and kept rutting against his thigh. He reached down with his other hand and for a moment Geralt froze, until he saw that Jaskier was only reaching for his own cock.  
  
“Shh - not gonna - just need _more_ ,” Jaskier groaned, pressing his length down against Geralt’s thigh with his hand until he was thrusting through the space between his hand and Geralt’s skin, slickened with precum. This was the most he’d ever been able to touch Geralt while they did this, and he wasn’t going to waste a moment of it. 

“Oh fuck,” Geralt muttered, clearly coming as equally undone by the sight, his breath hitching as his hips rocked and sped up. Jaskier was quickly unraveling, the intimacy of it driving him right up to the edge, their shared pleasure turning their kisses into sloppy, open-mouthed panting, until Geralt’s head dropped away, pressing hard against Jaskier’s shoulder as his breath wheezed hard and tight in his throat, and Jaskier knew he was close, knew from the way the Witcher’s entire body tensed and almost completely stilled before he jerked almost violently, his moans loud and deep as he came. _Gods_ Jaskier loved when Geralt came, loved how he completely lost himself for just a few seconds. Someday… someday it would be his hands, his mouth causing it, he hoped. 

For now, Jaskier had almost completely stopped moving while Geralt had come, but now he got moving again, his own climax only moments away after witnessing the breathing taking hotness that was Geralt’s orgasm, and Jaskier followed him with a high cry, making a mess of Geralt’s thigh and his own hand. Jaskier was still recovering when Geralt picked up his hand, and began licking in between his fingers, sucking his skin clean, and Jaskier groaned, feeling another hopeful spurt wetting the space between them. 

“You’re going to fucking murder me,” Jaskier muttered, and Geralt just chuckled. Another moment, and there was a familiar soft towel between them, wiping away the rest of the mess and tucking Jaskier back away inside his own smallclothes. “Do you need-”

“I’m fine,” Geralt said, as always. “Already took care of it. Sleep, Jaskier.” It was a familiar, gentle dismissal, and Jaskier took it softly, rolling onto his back with a content sight. It was too hot to curl up into one another's arms, but Geralt rested his hand in Jaskier’s as they drifted off, and Jaskier couldn’t have been happier.

Neither could Geralt.

The Witcher rolled over in the middle of the night, his sleep disturbed by the heat, and watched as Jaskier slept. The past few weeks had been amazing… but he knew it was high time for Jaskier to know the truth. Geralt hoped it wouldn’t mean an end to all this. He hoped it wouldn’t drive Jaskier away. He didn’t _think_ it would… but the fact that he wasn’t sure kept him up the rest of the night.

A few days later they were walking down yet another road, the cicadas so loud they were drowning out any attempt at conversation; and even if they hadn’t, it was too hot and humid for even Jaskier to sing. Jaskier’s doublet had long ago been opened and eventually tucked into a saddle bag, and Geralt found it hard to tear his eyes away from the bard’s open shirt, his hirsute chest sticking to his shirt and shining with sweat in the sunlight. Geralt was melting in his armor, but he tried not to complain as much as Jaskier. As the blazing sun finally began to set, Geralt turned them off the road towards where he knew a small spring cut through the forest, with a clearing he had used in previous years as a camp. 

“Melitelle’s tits it’s fucking hot,” Jaskier groaned as they plodded through the trees. “I’m disgusting. I think I’ve melted to my pants. My ass is-”  
  
“Moist?” Geralt suggested, because gods knew his own rear was sliding around in an uncomfortable combination of sweat and slick. 

“Moist is an understatement,” Jaskier grumbled. “I’m a greased pig, I’m about to slide out of the damn saddle.”

“Well, slide out into the river,” Geralt said as they broke through the trees into the small clearing. Jaskier groaned filthily when he saw the water, and quite literally melted his way off his horse and headed directly to the river, shedding his clothing along the way, not wasting a single moment to grab any of his soaps or oils. Geralt took his time, unfurling their bed rolls, making sure both horses were properly tied to a tree and shucking his armor and boots before heading to the river with the cleaning supplies.

Jaskier was already floating in a small pool dug out by the current next to the rocky bank, and Geralt smiled to see the bard so relaxed. They’d bathed together plenty of times now; it had only been awkward the first time when Geralt had insisted on keeping his smallclothes on. Jaskier didn’t question it anymore, especially when Geralt had refused to bathe with him for several weeks when Jaskier had tried to insist. No, it was a comfortable thing between them now, and Geralt pulled the rest of his clothes off and tossed them to the side, slipping into the cold water with a relieved groan.

“Can we just sleep in the river tonight?” Jaskier asked blissfully, looking up as Geralt floated by him.  
  
“Drowning in your sleep isn’t as much fun as you think it is,” Geralt replied. Jaskier huffed. “You left all the soap,” Geralt added, nodding towards shore. Jaskier perked up and drifted towards the rocks, grabbing a bar of sweet smelling soap and making his way back over to Geralt. They settled into their normal routine for the next few minutes, washing each other’s hair and backs, interspersed with gentle kisses to freshly cleaned skin, the heat and unpleasantness of the day fading with the sunlight, until they were enveloped in a warm twilight. 

Jaskier lingered behind Geralt, slowly brushing oil through his hair for far longer than was necessary, his hands softly kneading Geralt’s shoulders and neck. Geralt sighed, pressing into the touch, knowing they should get out soon, but loathe to leave when everything felt so wonderful. Jaskier’s fingers were under his chin, turning his head, and he eagerly pressed their lips together as the river gurgled around them and crickets took over for the cicadas. Frogs croaked as they leisurely explored one another’s mouths, no urgency in their movements, everything soothed by the cool water. 

“Mm…” Geralt said softly. “Maybe we _could_ sleep in the river…”

“Hmm,” Jaskier replied, his mouth slowly working its way down the shell of Geralt’s ear, making him shiver. “I think I’d rather head back to camp…”

“Gonna have to convince me a bit more,” Geralt teased, and suddenly Jaskier’s mouth was back on his. The bard’s long, dexterous fingers knotted in his white hair, holding him in place, and Geralt groaned at the manhandling. Then Jaskier’s other hand drifted lower over Geralt’s chest, fingers tracing so softly against his stomach that it clenched and his hips bucked; he moaned against Jaskier’s mouth as lust curled in his stomach and need took over for laziness. Water sloshed as Geralt turned the rest of the way around, and he was faced with a very smug looking bard. 

“Gonna fuck that look off your face if you don’t quit,” Geralt warned with a growl, and the flash of heat in Jaskier’s eyes was everything to him, it was everything he’d come to love over the past few weeks. Jaskier’s smirk only grew, but he finally stood up, pulling himself out of the water and dragging Geralt with him. Geralt didn’t have to look down to know Jaskier was hard, he could smell it in the air, and it made him hungry to get his mouth between Jaskier’s legs. 

They stumbled up the hill together and fell damply atop the blankets, Geralt above, his smallclothes clinging tightly to his thighs. Jaskier’s hands were on his rear, sliding down the back of his thighs and Geralt didn’t stop the bard this time, letting his hands go where they wanted. Jaskier stopped after a moment, realizing where his hands had drifted in the haze of lust, and pulled his mouth away from Geralt’s, panting.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I- I wasn’t thinking,” Jaskier said, and he started to pull his hands away.

“No,” Geralt said, reaching down and putting his hands on Jaskier’s wrists, holding them in place. “It’s alright.”

Jaskier still waited, his eyes lingering on Geralt’s face until they finally drifted down, taking in the sight of Geralt’s muscled chest, his taut stomach… and the _distinct_ lack of a bulge which, given the circumstances, should have been very visible through his soaking wet smallclothes.

“Are you - we don’t have to tonight, if you don’t-” Jaskier clearly wasn’t sure what to say or to think, and Geralt rushed to dispel his confusion.

“No - trust me, I am _very_ interested,” Geralt assured him, but he could tell Jaskier didn’t believe him - and how could he? He didn’t understand... so Geralt guided one of his hands between his legs, and Jaskier felt _heat_ there, the heat of Geralt’s need radiating right through the soaked smallclothes. Jaskier’s eyes went wide, and to Geralt’s relief, the smell of lust in the air didn’t dissipate. 

“I- you-”

“All Witchers are men,” Geralt said, a rumble in his throat. “Doesn’t mean we’re all built the same.”

“Did they _force-_?”

“No. The trial of the grasses was a choice for the children like me. Only three out of ten boys survive - the chances were even lower for the others, so they gave us the choice to leave. Many did go home, where they either kept up their training and became soldiers, or gave it all up and became wives, even had children. I stayed.”

“That’s why they had to do additional mutations…”

Geralt nodded, still kneeling between Jaskier’s legs. He felt his nerves getting the better of him, even though Jaskier’s pupils were still blown wide, his hand still between Geralt’s legs, the air thick with the spicy smell of his desire. Geralt nervously licked his lips, and opened his mouth to speak again.

“If you don’t-”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence, because Jaskier surged up and latched the fingers of his free hand around the back of Geralt’s neck, pulling himself up and smashing their lips together once more with a hungry moan. The hand between Geralt’s legs curled, fingers flexing and stroking eagerly through the wet linen, making Geralt gasp and buck above him. 

“You said you were going to fuck the look off my face,” Jaskier said, smirking. “I assume you still plan to make good on that promise.”

Arousal rushed through Geralt at Jaskier’s acceptance of him, that Jaskier wasn’t insisting the only logical configuration now was for Geralt to be the one getting fucked just because of the equipment between his legs - equipment he knew Jaskier had experience with, and was adapting to quite quickly, which was making it _very_ difficult for Geralt to think or speak for a moment. He moaned instead, pressing into Jaskier’s hand and rutting against his fingers as his forehead dropped to Jaskier’s shoulder. _Fuck_ , Jaskier was good with his hands… Why had Geralt denied himself this for so long!? A moment later Jaskier pulled his hand away, and Geralt growled from the loss of sensation. Jaskier shivered beneath him and laughed breathlessly, tugging at Geralt’s smallclothes.

“Will you take these wet clothes off, _please_?” Jaskier begged, and Geralt laughed, something light breaking open in his chest. 

“ _Yes_ ,” he said, finally, and quickly shimmied the wet fabric down over his thighs and kicked it aside. Jaskier gently pushed until they were both sitting up, and gently ran his hands down Geralt’s chest. His touch was different - exploratory, like it had been at first, like he was suddenly re-examining every angle of Geralt’s body. His hands were followed with his mouth, pressing soft kisses over Geralt’s chest and down his sternum, and Geralt found himself shaking with an overwhelming amount of emotion. Jaskier pulled away and pressed their mouths together, pulling Geralt in close.  
  
“I desperately want to put my mouth on you,” Jaskier said. “But only if you want me to. Fair warning, if you fuck me first you’re going to wreck me completely as we both well know, and I cannot promise as good a performance,” he said with a wicked grin, and Geralt felt heat washing through him. He reached up, grabbing Jaskier by the chin. 

“It better be a _very_ good dick sucking, with a promise like that,” Geralt rumbled, and the scent of Jaskier’s arousal washed over him like the best of wines. Geralt leaned back, lounging comfortably on his elbows, spreading his knees and beckoning Jaskier in with a raised eyebrow. Jaskier slid between his thighs, and Geralt’s world spun a bit as he forgot to breathe at the sight. 

“So you _are_ hard for me,” Jaskier said with a grin, taking in Geralt’s slick slit and the pert member above it, nestled below white curls. 

“Every time,” Geralt panted, feeling himself clench under Jaskier’s hungry gaze. 

“Good to know,” Jaskier said, and then he was peppering kisses down the inside of Geralt’s thighs. Geralt kept watching, his eyes locked on the press of Jaskier’s lips against his pale skin, at the drops of water still falling from his brown hair, but when Jaskier finally ran his hot tongue along Geralt’s length and sucked him into his mouth his head fell back and his shoulders thumped against the ground with a moan. He didn’t get this much - almost never really, and Jaskier’s mouth felt like a hot brand around him, dragging moans from deep inside his chest. A pleasure he’d never expected washed through him, and he thrust up into Jaskier’s mouth with a gasp, his hands clenching at the blankets beneath him. 

Jaskier moaned around him and Geralt made a broken noise, his hips rolling without heed as he felt himself sliding between Jaskier’s lips, driving himself up into the sweet slickness of Jaskier’s mouth over and over, the heat and the pressure of his tongue bringing him to the edge of orgasm faster than he’d done in years. He barely had a chance to gasp out Jaskier’s name before his entire body convulsed with orgasm, and he shouted so loud the crickets nearby hushed in fear - not that Geralt was paying heed to the crickets at the moment. He wasn’t paying much heed to _anything_ except for the euphoric feeling of his cock twitching inside Jaskier’s mouth, and doing everything he could with his one remaining brain cell to stop his thighs from crushing Jaskier’s head. 

He finally sagged back down to the ground, shaking with the intensity of it all as he gasped for breath, and mindlessly wrapped his arms around Jaskier as the bard crawled up through his legs and kissed him thoroughly. They laid together for several minutes, mindlessly kissing as Geralt came back to earth bit by bit.

“Mmm,” Jaskier said at last, propping himself up on his arms. “Have I ruined _you_ for the fucking you promised?” he asked coyly, and Geralt huffed up at him.

“Witcher stamina,” he reminded Jaskier with a dark purr, slowly rolling up to a sitting position, forcing Jaskier to sit up further, and finally forcing the bard to fall back against the bedrolls, their positions reversed. Jaskier looked extremely pleased with this, and his hips fell open wantonly, his cock hard and heavy between his legs. Geralt grabbed the jar of oil they always kept tucked away in their bedrolls now, and laid himself down between Jaskier’s legs. 

“Thank you,” Geralt said softly, looking up at Jaskier, whose eyes went soft. 

“Of course, love. Nothing about you could ever turn me away. Now, if you don’t mind, my ass isn’t going to fuck itself and I have been hard for what feels like _hours_ ,” Jaskier said, wiggling his hips. Geralt growled at him, a grin spreading across his face.

“You’re gonna regret being this troublesome tomorrow when you can’t ride your horse.”

“I will make sure to spend the day describing my aches and pains to you in _exquisite detail_ hour after hour if you don’t hurry the fuck up,” Jaskier shot back, and Geralt laughed, dipping his fingers into the jar and coating them with oil before pressing up against Jaskier’s entrance with two fingers. Jaskier gasped and threw his head back with a surprised “oh!” as Geralt pushed inside him with less permeable than he normally would. They’d done this enough by now that _careful_ preparation wasn’t necessarily _needed_ \- it was just Geralt’s usual preference to draw things out and keep Jaskier on the edge. Not tonight though - tonight his fingers were inside Jaskier and fucking him roughly from the start, and the bard’s thighs were already shaking with need as Geralt curled his fingers, causing Jaskier’s hips to jump as he shouted with pleasure. 

“ _Fuck_ Geralt, yes _-_ _yes, fuck me-_ ” Jaskier gasped, completely incoherent already, pushed right over the edge of sensibility into shouting all of his feelings by the roughness of Geralt’s fingers inside him. Geralt pressed in a third finger and Jaskier keened, choking on his breath and shoving his hips against Geralt’s hand desperately. Geralt hooked his fingers again, fiercely pressing against Jaskier’s prostate until he howled, one foot hooked around Geralt’s shoulders, coming hard and untouched as Geralt’s fingers fucked him through it. 

Jaskier shivered and shook, clenching around Geralt’s hand as he tried to gather up all of his senses; but he didn’t get the chance before Geralt’s hand was moving again, this time stroking him deeper and slower, a more thorough fucking, the kind he was more used to. Every meticulously slow drag of Geralt’s fingers against his sensitive prostate made him wail, writhing and gasping as he felt pleasure building again.

“ _G’ralt_ ,” Jaskier slurred, his head rolling against the blankets. “C-can’t - so soon, I _can’t_ -” His toes curled though, and despite his protests he could feel another orgasm rising in him, tightening in his core as he tried to find a way down from the precipice of sensation Geralt was holding him on, and finding no way down other than into the abyss. He was up on his elbows, bent over with tension as Geralt dragged him incessantly back up to the top, until Jaskier couldn’t even breathe, was certain he hadn’t drawn breath in at least a minute. 

When orgasm hit him again he almost blacked out; he certainly would have ripped himself out of Geralt’s grip with the intensity of it if the Witcher hadn’t had a strong grip on his hips. He arched back against the bedroll, writhing and screaming with blind pleasure as his cock made a mess across his chest, fresh warm spend joining the first go, which hadn’t even had a chance to cool. 

He didn’t feel Geralt’s fingers sliding out of him, didn’t feel the Witcher settle down beside him or pull the blankets over them or clean off his stomach; he didn’t notice _anything_ until he heard Geralt’s voice soft in his ear, and the gentleness of his hand against his face, softly coaxing him back towards proper consciousness. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jaskier rasped, his voice feeling raw. He turned, nuzzling into Geralt’s arms despite the warmth of the night. 

“Hey there,” Geralt said gently, and Jaskier let out a bone-rattling sigh, settling into contentment, the last of the tension shaking its way out of his body, the bliss of post-orgasm looseness finally taking hold. 

“Fuck, I love you,” Jaskier said, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s waist, which let him both hear and feel as the Witcher laughed in his arms. 

“Same, bard,” Geralt replied, kissing the top of his head. Geralt let out an equally deep sigh that rattled all his bones too and made him sink into the bedroll, and they both fell into contented sleep.


End file.
